


A Late Night

by mageofmind (renegadeartist)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: I mean technically but it’s not mentioned, Nonbinary Character, Post-Episode: s04e16 Waters of Mars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 08:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadeartist/pseuds/mageofmind
Summary: Martha finds an unexpected guest in her apartment. They talk.





	A Late Night

There’s something blocking Martha’s front door. She pushes, hard, but it won’t budge. Thankfully, there’s just enough room for her to squeeze through. She flicks on the light and shuts the door with a bang, sighing and shaking her head. She should have expected.

There’s a blue box occupying most of her front room, situated just close enough to the entrance to make it inconvenient. She hangs up her coat and puts her purse down before she wanders over to it and presses a hand against the wood that doesn’t quite feel like wood. She allows herself a moment to marvel at how alive the ship feels. “Hello again,” she says softly. She feels a smile break out on her face as the TARDIS hums back. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to know where your pilot’s got to, would you? I’d like a few words with them.”

The ship hums, but it’s been too long, and she can’t puzzle out what it’s saying to her. There’s a sharp _bang_ and then a hiss from the kitchen. She rolls her eyes. “Thanks, dear, but I think I know where they are now.”

She turns and walks into her kitchen, putting her hands on her hips and giving the Doctor a stern look. Or, at least, she hopes it comes through as stern. She thinks she might be smiling a little too much for it to really be that. “You’ve left your box in my front room,” she says.

The Doctor, who was probably just leaning back in their chair, is currently staring up at her from their spot on the the floor, half spilled out onto the floor. “She insisted on landing there. Didn’t want to risk moving her again. Could you help me up, please?”  

She ignores them for now, taking a quick look around her kitchen, trying to spot whatever it is they’ve been fiddling with while they were waiting. She’s glad when she finds her appliances still intact. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” they say. “I was about to, er, improve your microwave, but you showed up just in time to save it.” They offer a smile that looks terribly fake, more so than usual.

She feels herself frown as she holds out a hand and helps them stand. They move the chair upright and sit in it, one leg under their body, the other resting on her table. She expects them to immediately start fiddling with something, their hair or some random instrument they pull out of their pocket, but instead they stare into space. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen them so still.

“Are you alright?” she asks, moving to make a cuppa. She finds the kettle already warm, and a cup poured beside it. She takes it without a word and sits down across from the Doctor.

They start tapping their foot on the floor, incessantly and quickly, but Martha is fairly certain she hadn’t seen them shift at all from their previous position. “I’m fine. More than fine. Absolutely perfect.” They run a hand through their hair and tug at it. She tries to ignore how much they’re shaking.

She leans over and rests a hand on their leg. “Listen, Doctor. I know it’s probably a stretch to ask this if you, but for now, could you please be honest with me? Just for tonight. I know you’re here for a reason, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

They blink at her, mouth agape, seemingly baffled for a split second. They snap their jaw shut, swallow thickly, and then nod. “Ok. Alright. I’m- hm. I’m not alright at all.”

Martha can’t help but grin, even though she knows the situation is far from being funny. “How much did it hurt to admit that?”

They stick their tongue out at her. Then, their face falls, and they look like hell warmed over. “I’m- I’m not alright at all, am I?” It almost sounds like they're just realizing it themself. Suddenly, their eyes lock with hers, and they’re impossibly lost and frightened. “I feel like I’m falling apart, Martha.” 

She takes one of their hands, the one that had been pulling at their hair, and she starts rubbing circles into it. “And what makes you think I can do anything to help?”

She wants to help, certainly, but things have changed, and she’s a little more realistic than she used to be. There had been a time when she had idolized them, seen them as- well, perfect partner material. God, she had a bad taste in significant others. Thankfully, that time has almost completely faded into an embarrassing memory of adolescence, and Mickey seems to be working out on the boyfriend front.

She stares at the Doctor, sees them now, their facade cracked and spread out across the floor, as someone who needs a little help. Well, alright, maybe more than a little, and much more than she can provide, but she can sit and listen. It’s the least she can do.

“I don’t. It just feels like if I don’t say anything to someone I’ll explode.” Their other hand goes up to pull at their hair and Martha almost wants to slap it away. She’s afraid they’re going to start pulling chunks out, so she holds up a finger.

“Hold that thought for just one moment.” She disappears into her apartment and reappears a few moments later with a baseball. She hands it to them, saying, “Here. You’ll go bald otherwise.”   
  
They roll it, toss it, and then catch it, again and again. It’s an improvement. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. What do you need to say?”

They throw the ball up again, catch it smoothly with one hand, and throw it to the other. They roll it up one arm and it ends up in the opposite hand. They stare at her, with something horribly broken and alien in their eyes. She wants to shiver, but she reminds herself that _she knows them,_ and she’s dealt with plenty of aliens in her time. This shouldn’t be any different.

She tries to ignore how she still feels unsettled. How there is something in their eyes that could grab her and pull her under as easy as breathing. How there is something darker about them, in a way she can’t vocalize. She realizes that there is a fundamental _something_ about them that has changed, but she has no idea what it is.

But they’re also shaking, just slightly, and there are dark bags under their eyes. Their shoulders and slumped, and their limbs are stiff. Somewhere, layered in the dark, is someone who’s terrified but won’t admit it.

Finally, they take a deep breath in, and Martha tries to remember what she’d asked. “I’ve spent too long alone. I’ve done some things. Bad things.” They swallow thickly, and seem to brace themself. “Things you could go to Shada for. Prison, I mean. For people like me.” Martha isn’t entirely sure what that’s supposed to mean, but she assumes it’s bad, in the way their voice had dipped to a near whisper as they’d said the name, how their eyes had flickered to anywhere that wasn’t her. They look grave as they say, “So my question is: why am I not?”

Martha blinks at that. “What, rotting away in prison?”

They catch the ball and use the same hand to point at her. “Exactly. Clever Dr. Jones. Are you sure you don’t want another trip?”

She notices the attempted change in subject, but she only smiles and shakes her head. “I’m sure. I have a life here now, you know. Beyond you.”

The air suddenly becomes thick, soupy and dark. It makes her chest feel heavy, gives the impression of dark, twisting shadows and potent regret. It fills her apartment and makes it hard to breathe. “And that’s why you’re still alive. Still you.”

“Doctor,” she says quietly but sternly. “What did you do?”

“A lot of things,” they burst out, like they’re desperate for someone to understand. “So many things! Things I should never have done! Things I’ll regret to the day I die, really, properly die, if that day ever comes!” They roll the ball between their palms, and Martha can see it flattening out slightly from the pressure. Their whole body is buzzing with desperate energy. “But I’m still walking free! Who’s letting that happen, do you think? Who thought that was a good idea?”

She furrows her brow, and slowly leans forward, putting a hand on their knee again in an attempt to calm them down. It doesn’t work. “You do good. You know that, right? People might be dead because of you, but so many more are alive, too. You make a difference. A good difference.”

They give her a watery smile, one that makes their eyes shimmer, and they have to wipe at them aggressively. “Do you think that’s true? Because I’d say the score is about even. But I suppose someone out there must think I’m useful, or- or entertaining enough to walk free. I never thought about it like that, do you know? Never wondered if I’m just alive because someone thinks I make the universe a more interesting place.”

“Doctor, I think you’re just making yourself more paranoid. You’re free because you can’t sit still long enough for anyone to cuff you. I doubt you’d have the attention span for prison.”

“But that’s not the only point, Martha.” Again, they sound desperate. She thinks that, maybe, it doesn’t have anything to do with the conversation. Maybe they’re just desperate, full stop. They stand, abruptly, and start pacing. “I’ve- I’ve- done things. Things I shouldn’t have, _really_ shouldn’t have, and no one punished me for it, just let me walk free. I thought-“ and their eyes are red, now, and their voice is shaking “-I thought something would happen. This time. Sort of wanted it to. I thought this would be the last straw. That I’d finally outlived my worth.” They spin and stare at her, and there is only fear. “I think I’m crumbling, Martha. I know I am. It all piles up on you, in the end. Everything you’ve done. Everything you’ll do. And it sort of- of- cracks your rules, you know? Your moral code. Not that it wasn’t cracked before, but you’re just so tired of everything that you think ‘Maybe this once I’ll take a leap and break my own rules.’ Well, let me tell you something before that happens: your rules are there for a reason.”

Martha blinks at them. “I’m- I think I only followed half of that.” And the part she understood really didn’t sound good. “I’m not… your counselor, or anything like that. Because we’re friends, I’ll sit here and listen but… Doctor, you seem to want answers I can’t give. I’m not a therapist. I’m- not that sort of doctor.”

“I know, I-“ they take a deep breath and drag a hand over their face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come I just- needed to talk. I’m sorry. I’m fine, I promise.”

She says, sternly, “What did I say before, about being honest? You’re not fine. There’s no shame in admitting that. And you’re not leaving tonight, either. You look like you haven’t slept in a month, and superior Time Lord biology or not, that can’t be good for anyone. I’ve got a pull out, you can sleep on it if you like. I’ve got blankets if you get too cold, or I can just turn the heat up. If you need to talk more, I can listen, but don’t expect much intelligent response.”

Again, there’s a watery smile. Some of the fear, the dark storm clouds, have blown away. They sort of look like a person. Impossibly old, impossibly sad, but still a person. “Martha Jones,” they say softly. “You’re a star.”

She stands up to put her cup in the sink. “I know.”


End file.
